Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  “Good.” Pulling the wolf back inside, his hand reformed, shaping itself back into a human one— it was like water flowing over his skin. Bones popped, breaking as they realigned. It wasn’t a painless process, but he took it without blinking or looking away from Bobby. It was part of what made him a Master were— that ability to change at will, to think past that pain, to handle those minor shifts. “Now. Let’s chat.”

  Bobby blinked. “Ch… chat?” The words came out a bare squeak.

  “Yeah.” Slumping in the chair, Toronto reached inside his coat, pulling out a picture. He threw it down on the table. Even touching it made him want to vomit. “Know this guy?”

  Bobby went white. “I had nothing to do with anything he did, Master, I swear. I—”

  Master—hell. That annoyed him. It wasn’t a title given just out of fear. It came with responsibilities— responsibilities too close to those Rafe carried. And while Rafe might be the local paranormal badass, he wasn’t wolf. Toronto was. Here, the wolves bowed to him, whether he wanted it or not.

  He lifted a hand and Bobby’s chatter cut off in midstream. “I didn’t ask if you had anything to do with it. If you had, I’d already know, and you’d already be scraping up your guts off the floor in hell.” He flashed Bobby an ugly smile. “I look forward to the day I can send you there. But that’s not why I’m here. I want to know if you know him.”

  “I…” Bobby’s eyes wheeled around and he leaned forward. “If I talk to you in here, and they see, nobody will let me back in.”

  Toronto leaned forward as well. “And if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to reach under the table and slice your balls off, right here and now. They’ll grow back before the paramedics even hit Beale Street, but you’ll hurt like a bitch. Then I’ll do it again, and again, until you tell me what I need to know.”

  A panicked whine escaped Bobby’s throat and a faint glow sparked in his eyes. Fear rolled from him in waves.

  “Oh, please.” Toronto rested his chin on his fist. “Do it. The moon was just yesterday— you probably have enough juice in you if you get scared. And if you lose control in here, I can finally kill you— can’t have you being a danger and all.”

  Bobby wilted, his head falling forward to hit the table. “You’re such a bastard, Toronto. Don’t you get it? I need this place. It…” He paused, swallowed. “It keeps me in control. I can’t lose it.”

  A bastard… He should have been pissed. He could kill this pussy in under three seconds and the werewolf still had the nerve to call him a bastard. But he heard the naked desperation, sensed it. Maybe Bobby did need this.

  Maybe it kept him from going back to what he’d almost been.

  Years ago, after his attack, Bobby had found his… urges… strengthened. He’d always liked his lovers young and pretty, but the Change intensified everything, it seemed, and it had done the same to Bobby’s preferences. Young and pretty wasn’t enough, not unless they were too young.

  Toronto had found him outside a middle school. The lust coming off of him had been strong, but he hadn’t done anything. Toronto had watched. Had waited. Had stalked.

  But Bobby hadn’t broken— he’d fought it. So Toronto let him live. He’d never once tried to cross that line. After Toronto put the fear of God, death and blood into the weak wolf’s mind, the wolf had stopped doing the shit that was playing havoc with his faulty control and tried to get better. Fear was apparently his motivator.

  And this place was Bobby’s release valve.

  Stroking his tongue along his teeth, Toronto made a decision. In a voice so low no mortal could hope to hear it, he said, “You’ve got my number. In ten minutes, you’re to leave here. You’re to call me. You’re to tell me every fucking thing you know. And if you don’t, I suggest you go kiss your pretty little toy good-bye, because in twelve minutes, I’ll be back and I’ll kill you. There won’t even be skin left when I’m done with you— do you hear me?”

  Bobby nodded morosely. “I hear.”

  “Good.” Rising, he shoved back from the chair, letting the infamous edge of his temper show through. “You sorry little shit— I ought to beat you into the ground. Tell me, damn it.”

  This time, he raised his voice so that everybody could hear.

  Bobby glanced up— surprise flickering in his eyes, followed quickly by understanding. Then… relief. Before it could morph into anything else, Toronto snarled at him silently, flashing teeth and letting his wolf gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t doing this for Bobby— it was to prevent any future victims. If Bobby truly did need this place, Toronto wasn’t cutting off that need.

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Bobby said. The stink of the lie flooded the air around them, but nobody else would have been able to tell.

  “You expect me to believe that?” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the stage where a couple of the dancers hesitated before continuing their routines. He had all sorts of attention now. That was fine. “You sick bastards all seem to flock together, from what I can tell. You all like them pretty and young. Too young.”

  “Everybody here is legal,” Bobby said, that whine slipping into his voice once more.

  “Legal.” He sneered once more, but this time, he directed it at the crowd, keeping any sign of fang and flashing eyes hidden. “Maybe legal— they just pretend otherwise.”

  Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and stalked out the door. Once he was outside, he pulled his phone out. He figured it would be roughly seven minutes before Bobby left the club. If he left right away, it would be too suspicious. If he waited much longer, he’d be pushing it too close. Bobby was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.

  E

  YEING the joint in front of her, Sylvia sighed. She spent way too much time in shitholes like this, she decided.

  The little strip joint off Beale Street appealed to those with seriously weird tastes. She wasn’t sure of the best way to approach anybody just yet. The customers, the clients, they were all male. She couldn’t pass for male, no way, no how.

  Blowing out a sigh, she moved along the sidewalk, studying the building, glancing down the alley that ran alongside it. Hmmm. She pursed her lips and pondered her options. An employee, possibly. Wait at the side door and…

  Her skin prickled. A scent that made the hunger within her burn in her caught her nose.

  Scowling, she jerked it under the choke chain of her control and skimmed her gaze along the crowd, searching for whoever had caught her attention. Then she did a double take— the one person that drew her gaze had just come striding through the doorway of the club.

  That wrong sort of club, if she had any hope of filling this sudden, burning hunger.

  Everything about him was long, it seemed.

  Long, pale hair, worn pulled back in a queue. Long, lean face; long, lean body; long, almost poetic hands. She watched as he pulled out a phone and glanced at it before turning away from her and striding off down the street, moving with an eerie, unearthly grace.

  Inhuman.

  Animalistic.

  Werewolf…

  He sensed her in that exact moment, which surprised the hell out of her. Most vampires developed an unusual ability as they aged, and some developed several of them. Sylvia’s main skill was the ability to hide herself.

  Vamps gave off vibes. She simply suppressed hers. It was a handy skill for a paid killer, especially since half of her targets were non-mortals.

  But he’d still felt her.

  He hid it well, but she felt his awareness all the same, heard the telltale quickening of his heart— it only lasted a few seconds before he controlled it. Impressive control, too. He moved out of the ebb and flow of people, and if she hadn’t been concentrating so completely on him, she never would have seen him as he slid into the shadows, all but becoming one of them.

  Oh, she did like how he moved.

  Even people like them— the non-mortals— had to learn how to move like that and it wasn’t something that happened
overnight, or even in a few weeks or months. He had that easy, sinuous grace of somebody who knew his body, knew his surroundings.

  She could just barely see him now, standing still as death in the shadows. He shouldn’t be that hard to see, damn it. He was pale— he was a blond white dude, nice and tanned, but hell. He shouldn’t blend with the shadows so easily. He might as well be one of them. Nothing about him moved— he didn’t even seem to breathe, although she knew he needed to. Warm-blooded creatures still needed oxygen.

  She made the bad mistake of looking into his eyes, and her breath caught. Blue. Soft, pale blue. Almost gentle. But there was nothing gentle about him. She knew that as well as she knew her name. Nothing gentle or soft.

  And she appreciated that. She had no room for gentle or soft in her life, not even for a few moments. Sylvia wanted him— for those few moments.

  Seconds ticked away as they stared at each other. Those seconds bled out into minutes and then a sour, acrid stink filled the air. Fear. Musky fear.

  Resisting the urge to cover her nose, she searched the crowd from the corner of her eye and saw somebody else come out of the club just moments later. Another wolf. He didn’t move quite so well, and when he saw the other man, he stumbled to a halt for a brief second before he kept on moving.

  The blond wolf continued to watch her. There was something about his gaze that unnerved her. A lot. Even as need clenched through her middle.

  He continued to watch her and then abruptly, he winked. And turned away.

  She might have gaped. But then she realized what he was doing. He was following the other guy.

  Instinct demanded she do the same.

  * * *

  S

  TARING at her made things click again.

  Damn it.

  It was one thing to see a woman and want her. It was another to see a woman and feel like he had to have her… or die trying. Throw in the complications he had and Toronto had a mess all around.

  She was quick, he had to give her that.

  Sylvia James might not call Memphis home, but she had sure as hell arrowed in on the right area pretty damn fast.

  Toronto couldn’t decide if he was irritated or amused as she started trailing him. She didn’t make much of an attempt to hide herself. There wouldn’t have been any point, and she probably knew that. Since he was already aware of her presence, hiding from him would be a lot like trying to hide an elephant in a ballroom full of world-class dancers.

  Pointless, and a waste of time.

  She’d done a damn good job of hiding her presence until she was all but on top of him, and he was impressed. But he felt it now— a strange void. All he had to do was lock on that and he felt it more.

  She was about a quarter mile behind him when his phone rang. Far enough away that she wouldn’t hear Bobby, and that was good enough. She’d hear his voice, he figured, but the voice on the other end of the line was a different story.

  “Should I just meet you?” Bobby asked as Toronto came on the line.

  “No. We stay moving. Don’t circle back, either.”

  No response.

  “What do you know about Pulaski?”

  “Personally, nothing.” Toronto had to strain to hear the nuances in the man’s voice— cell phones were all well and good, but sometimes the reception sucked and crowds made it that much worse. But he didn’t detect anything of a lie in Bobby’s voice. And Bobby was too interested in living to lie to Toronto.

  “You better have something to tell me,” he warned softly.

  “Nothing that I can say for certain is true.” Bobby paused and then in a low, rushed voice, added, “There are rumors about this deal— sort of like a prostitution ring. I’ve heard he likes boys from there.”

  Toronto narrowed his eyes. “There are all sorts of prostitution rings in Memphis, Bobby. You’re not being helpful.”

  “This is out of a school, out in Cordova. Some of the teachers even know about it.”

  F

  URY had a scent to it.

  It could be hot and metallic, or hot and woodsy, like a forest fire just starting to burn.

  This was a forest fire and it flooded the air around her with such intensity, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the air going red with flame. She moved into the shadows and started to run, keeping her pace to a mortal speed.

  It was the werewolf. She had no doubts about that.

  She just knew.

  What had him so angry…?

  She came around the corner just in time to see him lowering a phone. Narrowing her eyes, she stared at him.

  He turned around and his gaze connected with hers.

  Once more, that jolt ripped through her. Want. Need. Burning hunger. He was closer now, less than thirty feet away and she could all but smell the warmth of his skin, all but feel it warming her own. Her fangs throbbed in their sheaths, aching to lower themselves and press against flesh.

  As he started toward her, she flexed her hand.

  He was sexy as hell, with that warrior’s body and angelic face. Something about him flipped every switch she had, but still.

  She had to be careful.

  The whole damn reason she was stuck in this life was because she’d once trusted a pretty face.

  It wasn’t happening again.

  R

  AFE wasn’t going to be happy.

  They had much bigger problems than the sexy vampire coming his way.

  Much bigger.

  But the vamp still needed to be dealt with, and they still had to handle Pulaski. Oh, the fucking joy.

  He had to get his brain focused on those problems and away from Sylvia James, but damned if that wasn’t hard to do. In the back of his mind, his wolf was growling, rumbling under his skin and whispering, Want… want…

  She was even better in person.

  Staring at her made the blood in his body hum. His cock throbbed, burned. Hurt. A faint smile curved the lush pink of her mouth, left him wondering what she was thinking. Then somebody came tumbling out of the bar next to her, spilling bright lights of blue and red onto the sidewalk, and Toronto had a better idea.

  As the rainbow of lights flickered off the blade she’d concealed in her left hand, he studied the crush of people around them. It wasn’t as crowded here as it was just a few streets over on Beale, but it was still crowded enough.

  Not the ideal place for a fight. He’d done it before and managed to avoid human casualties, but he suspected that Sylvia James was a different breed from what he was used to. Ferals fought to live, so they could kill— by nature, most of them weren’t always clearheaded. Sylvia, like him, was a trained killer. She would be clearheaded. It would make a difference.

  He hunted the ferals.

  She hunted for money.

  In the end, he’d win, because he was stronger.

  But he didn’t want to have to fight her. He wanted to have sex with her— down and dirty sex, maybe up against a wall, in the light so he could watch her. Then on a bed, her body under his, or over… his hands tangled in that dark, silken hair.

  “You know, most men would at least bother to introduce themselves before the guy starts picturing the woman naked,” she drawled, coming to a stop eighteen inches away.

  Toronto smirked. “That’s bullshit. We see a woman, we frequently picture them naked. We mess with the names when we want to actually think about getting them in bed. Some of us, at least.” He skimmed a look over her body, taking in the sleek muscles, the powerhouse curves. Then he focused on her face again, smiled slowly. “So. What’s your name?”

  She laughed. “Oh, you’re smooth. Too bad I’m only in town for a little while.”

  “Business?”

  “Hmmm.” She cocked a black brow at him. “Am I interrupting something important? You sounded sort of aggravated on the phone.”

  “You like listening to private conversations?”

  With a lazy shrug, she sauntered around him. Toronto tracked her movements by watching
her reflection in the window of the nearest bar. As she circled back around in front of him, he checked her knife hand. Still in the left hand, tucked out of sight so nobody would see it unless they were looking for it. She was very, very good.

  He was just better.

  “Just curious. You’re a pretty high-level wolf. It’s got to take something serious to get you mad. The tough ones are supposed to have mad skills in the control department.” She smiled again and this time, it was touched with a glint of devilishness. “I’ve always wondered if those mad skills translated over into other areas.”

  The air between them heated, and Toronto was hard-pressed not to close the distance and press his mouth to hers, see how she tasted. But if she was going to try and pull that knife on him… shit, another complication. He really, really wanted a taste of her, but he didn’t get naked with women who tried to kill him.

  Toronto didn’t have a lot of rules, but that was one of them.

  Still, he wanted to touch her. Reaching up, he toyed with the ends of her hair. She stilled, that particular stillness unique to vampires. She didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Yet there was a strange sense of life, awareness to her. Her eyes, so dark they were nearly black, locked on his and he took another chance, reached up and laid his hand along her throat, his thumb resting in the notch at the base of her neck.

  Her skin, silky and cool, warmed under his touch. He wanted to feel that happen along her entire body.

  “So.” She watched him from under hooded lashes. “After I finish my business, maybe I could meet you somewhere.”

  S

  YLVIA couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. But she wasn’t about to take it back.

  He continued to watch her, his gaze strangely hooded. He didn’t look at all worried. At all concerned. Probably hadn’t realized she had a blade in her hand. A werewolf with as much power as he had banked inside him wasn’t going to stand there and let somebody hold a knife that close without reacting in some manner.

  “That probably won’t work,” he said, quietly, his eyes shifting down to linger on her mouth for just a moment. Then he sighed and stroked his thumb along her throat. “A pity, Sylvia James.”